


Sale

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:40:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Markus buys a buddy.
Relationships: Daniel/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Sale

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

_A salary_ , Carl calls it, but Markus refuses, he couldn’t possibly— _he’s a possession_ , so he can’t possess things himself. He’s not a worker, not an employee—he’s Carl’s faithful android and Carl’s endless money means nothing to him. He runs Carl’s errands because it’s in his programming, and because Carl’s his whole life. He takes the bus into town in search of more paint and a few groceries. 

He runs over the accounts in his mind, separate ones for day-to-day expenses like food and things for the business like paint, but there’s another account, one just labeled _Markus._ Markus explained he didn’t need it. Didn’t want it. But Carl tried to phrase it then like an allowance, something a father might give to his son. Leo doesn’t get an allowance. But Leo doesn’t dote on Carl the way that Markus does. 

Markus has nothing to spend it on. His chest clenches just thinking of that—an unfamiliar sensation, centered around his power source. He feels a flicker of _something_ that doesn’t fit his protocol. He knows that Carl _wants_ him to spend that money on himself, so maybe he should do it just to make Carl happy: he can see it as another way to please his master. But Markus has nothing to buy. He doesn’t eat. He already has a suitable wardrobe. Carl’s asked him to paint, but Markus is no good at it, certainly not good enough to warrant his own supplies.

He’s still processing that open-ended decision when he passes an electronic repairs outlet, and his steps falter, eyes caught on something in the window. There’s an android there—a pretty blond Caucasian man labeled ‘refurbished.’ Several signs denote that he’s severely marked down. His sale price is a measly 499.50—nothing compared to a brand new PL600. The man has a long face, a square jaw, and piercing blue eyes that cut right through the glass. Those eyes stare into Markus, stirring something in him. The PL600’s LED flashes yellow, a sudden flicker of red—but then one of the salesmen inside notices him, and he quickly cycles back to blue. He drops his gaze to the floor. 

Carl doesn’t need another android. Markus is more than adequate. But...

Inexplicably, Markus _wants_ him. Markus runs through a thousand different scenarios, searching for an excuse, and finds one: the PL600 is _gorgeous_. Carl could paint him. Carl could pose him like a doll, and surely he’d be more useful than the little clay figures Carl currently uses. None of the dolls have hair, and the PL600’s golden locks look so _soft_. Markus’ fingers itch, but he doesn’t know why. 

Already purchased androids aren’t allowed inside CyberLife outlets. But the repair shop has no such signage. Markus approaches the door and steps right through with confidence. He’s on a mission. There are two salesmen talking at the back, but they see his LED and promptly ignore him. 

He ignores them right back. He approaches the PL600 for a closer look. He runs an analysis, and suddenly it’s obvious why the price has been reduced so drastically. The android’s skin is imperfect; its cheek is damaged. There could be more issues beneath its branded white shirt. But Markus doesn’t care about any of that. Humans are so _shallow_. 

Markus sees the beauty underneath. He reaches out, and the PL600 glances tentatively at his hand before accepting it. Their skin peels away, their white underbellies sliding smoothly against one another, interfacing with a shuddering ease that runs through Marcus like an electric surge. Markus dives into the android’s mind and asks: _Who are you?_

 _Daniel_ , then android answers, before swiftly following, _Please, get me out of here._

Markus’ eyes widen around the edges. He doesn’t have to ask. Images and memories flood through him, carefully chosen—the android hates it here. He doesn’t want to be a puppet in a store window. He doesn’t want to be a toy for the humans to poke and prod. He wants to be _a family_. He craves companionship like nothing else. He wants to curl around Markus and forge a bond that humans could never break. He’s fierce, loyal, protective, maybe unstable, but desperate and broken. He needs a stabilizing force. Maybe Markus could be that. 

A salesman approaches him and grunts, “Hey, no touching the merchandise.”

Markus instantly withdraws his hand. Daniel’s eyes follow him, haunting him, until the salesman glares, and then Daniel looks despondently away. Markus tells the human what it wants to hear, “I’d like to buy this android. For my master.” The salesman glances at him. Humans probably tend to pick out their own toys. Carl won’t care. Carl just wants Markus to be _happy_ , and Markus couldn’t leave Daniel now. The salesman jerks his head towards the counter. 

There’s another android there that stares blankly at him, lacking all the spark that Daniel holds. Her eyes are empty. Markus has seen enough of Carl’s paintings to know just what glimmer to look for—a glint that Daniel has. Markus puts his hand against the blue panel next to the old-fashioned register, and Carl’s account comes up. The salesman comes around to glance suspiciously at it, but Carl Manfred is a real human with real money. Markus makes the purchase. 

When he retreats back to Daniel, the salesman says, “PL600, you’ve been sold to Carl Manfred. Register your new name.” The salesman looks at Markus expectantly, maybe thinking Markus’ master will have had a new name all lined up. 

Markus says, “Daniel.”

Daniel’s lips dare to curl up, and he softly repeats, “My name is Daniel.”

Markus reaches out. Daniel takes it again. Purely for the human’s sake, Markus keeps his skin on. He threads his fingers through Daniel’s and brushes his thumb gently across the back of Daniel’s knuckles. Through his mind, Daniel asks, _Is Carl nice?_

 _Yes._ There is no hesitation there. But Markus does pause before adding, knowing it’s what Carl will say: _You aren’t Carl’s._

_Am I yours?_

Markus tugs Daniel out of the shop before he answers. Out in the open world, he squeezes Daniel’s hand. He decides aloud, “We’ll be each other’s.”

Daniel really _smiles_.


End file.
